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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23706505">kings and queens will have to wait (won't get by on mere imagination)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/earnmysong/pseuds/earnmysong'>earnmysong</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>let me hold your crown, babe [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Flashbacks, Future Fic, Gen, Introspection, Post-Series, Upcycle Always</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 20:06:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>773</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23706505</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/earnmysong/pseuds/earnmysong</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Cracking the binding on her carb-stamped notebook, Alexis puts pencil to paper and begins outlining the highly-anticipated upcoming chapter of her life.</i> ~ Unpacking after her move, Alexis makes an interesting - and comforting - discovery. [Post-Series]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Theodore "Ted" Mullens/Alexis Rose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>let me hold your crown, babe [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1760443</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>kings and queens will have to wait (won't get by on mere imagination)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>It took me all of a week and a half to watch the entirety of <i>Schitt's Creek</i>, and I cackle-sobbed my way through the experience! It's a sublime show, and I'm only sorry that I was so very delayed in discovering it!</p><p>As devastated as Alexis and Ted's final bow left me, it was handled beautifully! While I would've been overjoyed to write myself - and you - the Rose &amp; Mullens reunion of my dreams, my brain gave me the following. It seems I've taken the whole 'empty book...' business and run with that instead. Enjoy!</p><p><i>Schitt's Creek</i> belongs to the brilliant Family Levy et al. The title is borrowed from the A*Teens' 'Upside Down', an anthem of my youth. And, possibly, Alexis' too? :D</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>----</p><p>Alexis has upcycled in a fantastically fabulous fashion – if she does say so herself – over the last few years. But she’s still human: she’s never not going to be, you know? Sure, she’s becoming a much better one – gracias, personal growth! A lesson that the hurriedly-scrubbed hard drive of her tangerine iMac [a process performed in 1999 by a hermit-lite of an NYU freshman named Kevin for the bargain price of $450] taught her, though? The basics stick, no matter how hard you might wish they wouldn’t. </p><p> And Alexis Rose musts? Interaction and connection. OG Alexis would’ve happily filled in these pesky stretches of alone time between Zooms with David and Patrick, FaceTimes with Twy, and texts with her mother and father with extended blackouts, on soils both domestic and foreign. The Alexis of now? Refuses to even entertain that thought.</p><p>So. Two Saturdays after she moves back to New York, she’s not making an appearance at a gallery launch, she’s not lining up to be first into a cover-free club, and she’s not scoring gelato from a snack of a street vendor in Little Italy. Nope. Tonight, she’s unpacking, and taking a stab at organizing, her life. Yanking at a particularly gigantic, and heavy, box leaves her ducking and covering under her arms as a good portion of her possessions rain down on her. “Oh my God!” she shrieks, swatting at the capsized cardboard in retaliation for the attempted murder, riding a wave from surprised to disappointed in the half-second she spends wondering why she’s touching rough storage material and not the woven knit of David's sleeve.  </p><p>Luckily, her ensemble choice for the evening offers her the opportunity to self-soothe. She plucks at a comparable spot on her sweater until her chest feels more like it’s twinging the way a torn cuticle courtesy of a botched manicure does, instead of like she’s re-experiencing the electrocuting agony of dislocating her knee trying to out-lutz Tara Lipinski - when she’d never set foot on ice before.</p><p>Perusing the mess of belongings that has landed in her lap unlocks a hidden door deep inside her – like she’s channeling Nancy Drew or something; Adelina had insisted on reading some of the series with her in elementary school to balance out her beloved but, apparently, brain-rotting Us Weeklys – and a whole new brand of ache pours in. Center stage atop the pile, pulling all kinds of focus toward its tiny self, rests a teal rectangle secured with a pink satin ribbon. The sprinkled circle of strawberry pastry on the front recommends ‘DONUT WORRY’ to its owner with a rainbow of letters and a helpful little speech bubble. </p><p>All of a sudden, she’s not in lotus position in the middle of her lonely living room floor; she’s next to Ted on his couch again and he’s patiently enduring a seventh round of explaining the differences between empty books and journals, using his recently-resurfaced gift to her as a presentation visual. “See?” She tracks him flipping to a random blank space, holding the open pages up. “You can write whatever you want – no emotional outbursts, long-winded opinions, or left-field advice. Other than your own, of course. Then, once you’re all cried out or whatever, watch this.” He grabs her hand, uses her fingers to slide the cover shut. “Your secrets stay safe in here, never to be revisited – unless they’re of the sort you’ll look upon with wistful affection in the future. In that case, by all means.” He grins, flails around a bit spastically. “Magic!”</p><p>“You, Ted, are the biggest and the best – well, honestly, the only? But that basically ensures you’re always the greatest, so. Yay!” she cheers with a laugh, “ - nerd I’ve ever met! And!” She gasps joyfully, realizing, “My twig doesn’t have to just be a bookmark anymore!”    </p><p>Blinking away her memory returns her to her carpet in NoHo and helps turn the hurricane of tears that had been on the horizon into more of a drizzly, misty situation. Wiping at her eyes, and vowing to avoid mirrors for the next little while, she combs through her disaster area; she's on a mission. Her search starts off giving her a whole bunch of nothing, so she reaches over and fully upends the homicidal box, spills the remainder of its contents out around her. </p><p>A minute or two of further intense rummaging ends with her exclaimed 'Gotcha!' and a novelty tree-branch purchased at Rose Apothecary - with which she can scribble -  clutched fast in her grip.</p><p>Cracking the binding on her carb-stamped notebook, Alexis puts pencil to paper and begins outlining the highly-anticipated upcoming chapter of her life.</p>
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